


numb (most of the time).

by katarama



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Anxiety, Crushes, Food, Gen, Irregular eating because of anxiety, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Pre-Relationship, Ransom's anxiety is serious too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2019-01-06 17:35:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12215592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katarama/pseuds/katarama
Summary: It’s the week before finals, and Ransom knows he hasn’t done enough to prepare.





	numb (most of the time).

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SummerFrost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SummerFrost/gifts).



> This fic picks up where [this comic](http://omgcheckplease.tumblr.com/post/69761311169) ends.

 

It’s the week before finals, and Ransom knows he hasn’t done enough to prepare. 

To some extent, he knows there’s nothing he can really do.  He has hockey and a social life, which he wouldn’t sacrifice for anything.  He should have started on applications to work in labs over the summer a month ago.  He’s maxed out on credits this semester.  There are only so many hours in a day, and picking apart every week of the semester to try to figure out what he should’ve could’ve would’ve done better won’t do him any good at this point.

It doesn’t stop him from doing it.  But he knows, even as he’s internally chastising himself, that it doesn’t do anyone a bit of good.  It just makes his jaw and his back and his chest permanently tight, his outline of Orgo topics he still has to study looking distant and unfocused in front of him.

His back has been sore for two weeks now.  Holster keeps trying to talk to him about getting a massage, but Ransom doesn’t think it’ll help.  Even if his posture were less terrible, even if he didn’t spend half his time curled up on the floor with his textbook, his anxiety is a constant hum, his body pulling inward on itself like it’s forgotten what it feels like to relax.

Ransom hates this time of year.

“Bro, we’re heading over to the caf to grab some food.”  Holster’s voice cuts through the haze.  “You want us to sneak you anything?”

Ransom pauses for a second, assessing.  He doesn’t feel like he could eat if he tried, his stomach churning.  It’s late, though; he can feel it in the way his muscles are sore, his body held still in one spot for too long, time passing at uneven intervals.

“Get him a couple PB&J sandwiches and some ginger ale,” Jack says firmly before Ransom can get his thoughts together.  “I’ll catch up in a sec, save me a spot.”

Ransom only hears the team trudging out because the Samwell Hockey Team is incapable of doing anything quietly.  Along with the footsteps and the chatting, and the ensuing loud shushes, Ransom hears something quieter, though.  Something closer.  There’s a muted thump of weight on the rug next to him, and Ransom lifts his head.

Jack is staring at him, his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth set.  

“Um,” Ransom says, a little uncomfortable.  He hasn’t seen this kind of intensity directed his way from Jack outside of a hockey rink or locker room since Ransom was a frog, when Ransom made every excuse he could to spend time with Jack, when he hadn’t yet gotten over his initial hero worship and settled into something less embarrassing but just as jumbly.  “Hi?”

“I’m going to move your textbook,” Jack says calmly.  “I’m not going to take it from you.  I’ll give it back when we’re done talking.  Is that okay?”

Ransom takes a very, very deep breath.  “Yeah.  That’s fine,” he says.  He unfolds his body and shifts, slowly dragging himself up off the ground.  He’s watching from a sitting position, wincing through the pins and needles in his right leg, as Jack moves Ransom’s textbook to the table with Ransom’s bag.  Jack brings Ransom’s water bottle with him and hands it to Ransom.

The water is warm.  Ransom takes a sip anyway.  He didn’t realize how dry his mouth was.  He downs almost half the bottle, his shoulder aching from too much time spent trapped under his body.

“Take your time,” Jack says, in that same steady tone.  It would be maddening if it weren’t soothing, having someone talk in subdued tones.  Too much noise and too much contact sets Ransom’s nerves on edge when he’s this tightly wound, everything inspiring annoyance in a way he never experiences when he’s better rested and less stressed out.  “Do you need to do some stretches?”

“Probably,” Ransom says.  He sets his water bottle down next to him.  “I can handle that, though.  You can head off to dinner with the rest of them.  Make sure Holster gets the peanut butter ratio right.”

“I can,” Jack agrees.  “But I’m not going to.  Does this happen every semester?”

“Ch’yeah,” Ransom says, waving it off.  “You don’t have to do the captain shit, dude, I’m fine.  I just gotta get through my finals, and then it’ll pass.  Sophomore year, y’know?”

Jack’s brows furrow even more deeply.  Ransom’s pretty sure he could stick a nickle between them and have it stay.  “I don’t think most…” Jack pauses, rethinks his words as he stares at Ransom, then goes quiet again.  “Can I touch you?  You can say no.”

Ransom feels Jack’s gaze heavy on him.  He thinks if it were anyone but Jack or Holster, he’d say no.  But he nods his head and tells Jack yes.

He’s rewarded by one of Jack’s broad hands gently rubbing his back.  Ransom isn’t sure if the contact is to ground them both or whether Jack’s feeling for knots, but Ransom leans into the touch.  It’s warm and oddly reassuring and not too intrusive, and Ransom’s grateful.

“I’m not your captain right now,” Jack says seriously.  “I’m your… your friend.  Your friend who has anxiety.  I know a panic attack when I see one.  They feel horrible, and they can have serious health effects.  I’m not… I won’t push you to do something about it.  It’s helped me, when I did it right.  I just want you to take a little time to breathe and stretch and eat.  I could use the break, too, and this always helps me.”

Ransom has a head full of arguments.  Jack’s being so careful not to make him bristle while dropping conversations about panic attacks and mental health and  _ seeking help _ into this, and Ransom’s gut impulse is to tell him that he doesn’t need it.  He’s been dealing with this kind of pressure, the weight of his expectations and his parents’ expectations and his entire family’s expectations, really, all his life.  He can handle this.  He has a routine.  And, sure, it may look kinda weird from the outside, but this is coping as well as he knows how.  

He needs this time to study.  He doesn’t have time to be wasting staring down Jack’s earnest blue eyes, to be leaning down into the way Jack’s arm feels around him.  

He can already feel himself breathing easier, some of the tightness in his chest loosening, and it’s the only reason he finally folds.

“You could use the break, too?” Ransom asks.  Jack smiles gently, and Ransom’s heart skips a beat.

“Yeah,” Jack says.  “I could use a walk and some fresh air.  Just walking to the dining hall, if you want to join.  Get some protein in you.  Brain food.”

Without Ransom’s organic chemistry outline staring him in the face, it seems a lot more reasonable.  Ransom  _ could _ use the break to recharge his brain.  He knows it’ll make him more effective.  And now that he’s actually focusing on it, he  _ is _ a lot more hungry than he realized.

“Let me pack my stuff,” Ransom says.  His legs are a bit unsteady when he stands up, the blood rushing into his limbs, but Jack is there, hovering to make sure he’s okay.

Ransom doubts that this is the last serious conversation they’re going to have about this.  He would bet, knowing Jack, that they are going to have an awkward and stilted and very, very earnest conversation about it half the way to the dining hall.  Ransom can already picture Jack giving him one of his subdued, understated pep talks that Ransom has always found more compelling than the chest-thumping kind.  

Ransom can deal with that when they cross that bridge.

For now, though, Ransom packs his bag back up, carefully marking his place in his notes.

Some fresh air and some walking with Jack might do him some good.

**Author's Note:**

> On tumblr [here](https://polyamorousparson.tumblr.com/).


End file.
